The Hornet's Sting_ The Amazing Untold Story of World War II Spy Thomas Sneum - Mark Ryan [44]
By the time he climbed again, he was already out of range, though the Spitfires and Hurricanes responded to the manoeuvre with fresh menace. All Sneum wanted to do was land the plane without starting a fire, and then explain himself to the British personally. In the morning haze, he spotted a suitable field and told Kjeld to brace himself. As he eased down the nose, however, there was panic below: ‘The field came alive and I realized the smoothlooking surface I had identified was covered in sheep.’ Then, looking ahead, the Danes saw that their epic flight was about to end just as it had begun, with Sneum struggling to avoid potentially lethal wires (this time strung from telephone poles). Pedersen could hardly bear to watch, but once again his friend’s reflexes saved them with only meters to spare. One more road, one more hedgerow and then they were over a field of ankle-high corn. If Sneum could just drop the Moth gently down it would all be over.
The first brush with land was a magical moment, though they should have known better than to think it had guaranteed their safety. The Hornet rumbled on noisily, the whole plane vibrating as if she were about to disintegrate in protest at what she had been forced to endure. Pedersen expressed his fear that the speed alone might do them both serious damage if Sneum couldn’t bring the machine under control. A country road lay ahead, at a right angle to their approach. Fighting a final battle with a plane that had performed miracles, Tommy slowed her just in time. The Hornet Moth came to a stop just meters from the hedge that marked the edge of the field.
They had done it, and they sat for a moment in silence. Sneum glanced at his watch. It was 5.30 a.m. on 22 June 1941. The crossing had been six hours and five minutes of continuous flight in a single-engine aircraft; nearly eight hundred kilometers, almost entirely over water. They had achieved the impossible. Had they known it, they could have celebrated an unofficial aviation world record. ‘We didn’t know anything about that at the time. We were just happy to be alive,’ admitted Sneum.
With rubbery legs and stiff backs, the Danish pilots climbed down and collapsed briefly into each other’s arms. Then they remembered that there were appearances to be maintained. Tommy revealed: ‘We had fresh white shirts and uniform jackets folded behind our seats, and in our jacket pocket we each had a tie, which we proceeded to put on. We wanted to be presentable, so that we would be treated like gentlemen.’
Once they considered themselves sufficiently smart, they locked the aircraft and took a short stroll to help their circulation. For a few surreal minutes, it was as if nothing extraordinary had happened. Then they spotted a farm laborer walking down the road, apparently on his way to work. He didn’t look very different from the men at Elseminde. When they called him over, however, he seemed startled.
Sneum spoke first. ‘Can you please tell us where we are?’
‘No,’ came the reply. It was a simple word, but the worker pronounced it in a way that didn’t sound English to Tommy. And the context seemed even more bizarre.
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t you know where we are?’ asked Pedersen.
‘Of course I do. I’m not stupid, man.’
‘Then